


We're Looking For Something Fun To Do (That Doesn't Involve Genocide)

by jeanneMULTISTAN (xiu21chen99)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alcohol, Clubbing, Drunk Dancing, Emotional Baggage, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hisoka is comforting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mental Instability, OOC Illumi Zoldyck, POV Changes, POV Third Person, hangovers, he's not that emotionally devoid, in his own unorthodox way, mentioned childhood trauma, morning afters, rather grumpy actually, repost bc i messed up, they say some poetic shit, this is my new pseud for hxh fanfics, we all know Illumi's just a traumatized child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25421848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiu21chen99/pseuds/jeanneMULTISTAN
Summary: Illumi's definition of fun revolved around silence and silent brooding, so Hisoka gave him a taste of his own; strong whiskey and freedom.Or; the night was theirs for the taking, so they took everything they couldn't own.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Hisoka & Illumi Zoldyck, Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck, Implied/Referenced Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 90





	1. Peace is Fun, Quiet is Fun

**Author's Note:**

> yes i own [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25375285/chapters/61529674) and yes i know i made a mistake, i was quite confused with how orphaning fics worked and i paid the price for my curiosity with my work. im sorry to the readers who got confused, but i hope they find their way back here again.
> 
> so,,, sorry about the commotion, but ill definitely be more careful next time xP so um, with all that said, 
> 
> enjoii!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when an echo of silence meets shouts of noise, tension resonates.

After yet another successful mission, Illumi decided to head home by foot, not minding the fact that he’s on the completely opposite end of the country. He could get there by morning, and the weather was nice enough, he would savor this night by realigning the tracks of his train of thought. 

There were plenty of things to mull over, each member of his family similar to trees bearing a multitude of branches he can (over)think about, but he settled for just one- the most prominent roots of contemplation; Killu. And his bizarre antics. Father said he will come back soon, but soon probably did not account for skipping from city to city with that thing Killu so fondly called their sister; as of late, Mother has tried non-stop to get Father to see that.

Illumi knew he was just being prideful at the moment.

A rock flew towards the back of his neck, but he ducked before it hit him, felt it come the millisecond it entered the two-foot radius blanket of aura he covered himself in. His eyes slimmed. He has not sensed a presence worth noting, and the streets were emptying save for a few groups of stragglers who minded no one else’s business but their own. He glanced left and right, up and down and all around.

Who-

“Fancy seeing you here, dear Illumi,” a voice said. Shivers quietly crawled up Illumi’s spine and he forced them back down with practiced ease. “Hisoka,” he addressed the empty space in front of him, staring straight ahead; after a blink, Hisoka stood there. Popped out of nowhere, it seemed, but Illumi knew he used the building beside them to hide, somehow.

Because only after a cursory check of his surroundings did he realize where his mindless strides took him.

“Have you come to visit?” Hisoka teased, “Or to fight me, perhaps, my porcelain doll?”

Illumi forgot Heaven’s Arena was just a few blocks away from his now deceased target’s flat, and like an unsuspecting mouse he was now trapped by this menace and his smirk-crinkled feline eyes, looking pleased with himself and with Illumi's glare.

“I did not intend to see you,” he said, direct as always, “I was merely walking home after finishing an assignment. Now, if you will excuse me-” Illumi promptly walked past, shoulder brushing Hisoka’s though barely with the heels adding to the latter’s already towering height.

The train of "do not follow me" ran at a ridiculous speed around his head, the image of Hisoka’s smug face at its tail. Great. He can feel him now, having obviously made his presence known, he can feel Hisoka’s aura, spiking the hairs at the back of his neck to stand. 

“Stop following me,” it was a fruitless attempt, Hisoka sped up to sync himself with Illumi’s steps. “Why?” he challenged. 

Silence. A defeated sigh.

“You live in the mountains, sweetheart. Do you really plan to get back by foot, that’s scaling through nearly the whole length of the country,” Hisoka leaned over with a curious finger to his chin, “Surely even you would find that difficult."

“I have survived worse,” he reassured, hands twitching to get a few of his pins. “It’s not that different, then?” _that’s rhetorical, don’t answer, and personal; all the more reason to ignore_. “Either way, you’ve already died inside, dear Illu.” _Hisoka must love crossing lines not worth crossing, then._

Clink. Whoosh. Phantom whispers. Pins float, flamed by violent violet nen, ready to stab Hisoka’s back- how fitting. Two cards, held by hands on either side of Illumi’s neck; two jokers, fitting indeed, the left one slides frictionless on the underside of his jaw.

“Have I touched a nerve?”

“I will be ripping yours, to return the favor.”

“I love it when you threaten me, darling.” Hisoka purred into his ear, a grotesque symphony. “But to ‘rip’ mine, you’d have to revive yours first,”

“Hisoka!” he hissed, a pin in hand appearing below Hisoka’s chin held by a white knuckled grip. He could do it, this life-and-death gamble to see which was faster, the magician’s card trick or the assassin’s killing move. He could win but just then Hisoka chuckled, and it rumbled in the deepest chambers of his chest like a trapped thunderstorm.

When he doubled over and nearly impaled himself on Illumi’s armed hand, the latter took an unconscious step back. 

Half lidded eyes look up, an overflowing amount of smugness in the molten gold within them. “I was ready to get absolutely shredded, darling.” He taunted, words rolling off his tongue in lascivious waves.

“Why did you back away?”

“…Leave me alone,” he said after a good, long stare and a good, long sigh. The pins descend; flying around their previous target and into the crooks between Illumi’s spread fingers, positive to the negative poles of Illumi’s hand. “Have a good evening, Hisoka.” He bowed briskly, turned on his heels and continued where his walk was left off.

“Oh dear Illu,” Hisoka leapt to his side, arm thrown over tense shoulders. “It was just a joke, do lighten up. Stop treating me like some stranger.”

“I want to walk alone so I can think, Hisoka, my thoughts are never organized when you are around.”

“Did you just admit I invade your thoughts, dear Illu?”

"I admit; you are a flamboyant and obnoxiously distracting entity," Illumi pricked the offending hand on his shoulder bouncing with each synchronized step; when Hisoka gave him no reaction, he buried it between the flexed bones of two fingers, pierced straight through until the sharp end poked out of his palm, "And I also admit I despise all the adjectives I used for you."

Hisoka retracted the hand, took out the skewer with his sharp canines, and inevitably placed it back over tense shoulders. Blood be damned, he pulled at Illumi’s neck lightly- tried to get him to come closer.

It did not work; Illumi was keen on not adding any red to his perfectly clean green attire, lest he wanted to look like someone's bloody Christmas past. He ducked under the once-again offending arm, pushed Hisoka forward a bit then slid down his feet to trip Hisoka’s own heel-clad pair.

The damn clown jumped before he could make contact.

“Why not make this night a fun one instead of wallowing in your self-deprecating thoughts, hmm?”

Hisoka landed behind him, offering his left hand that was dripping of crimson, “Shall I show you what fun is?” One eye peeked through the midnight curtain of Illumi’s hair, disinterest apparent even when Hisoka only saw half of it, “peace is fun, quiet is fun. To have both would be transcendent, and to attain them, I have to rid myself of you for the night.” Illumi spun around, tried to land a kick on Hisoka’s side but, of course, it was anticipated. Pak! A strong grip surrounded his left foot.

Wait.

Shit.

He was too distracted and too high-strung for this; face-to-face combat was not- would never be- his forte. Illumi always made sure he had already won before circumstances got to push him into using this method. He knew deep down, even with his trained combat skills, within such close proximity he was practically at Hisoka’s mercy. And the idea bothered him to no end.

Hisoka pulled him by the ankle, twisted just enough to not damage a bone, then he felt it. A heavy weight and something was pulling at his supposedly free right leg- Bungee Gum.

“Fuck,” they say at the same time.

Hisoka wrapped both subdued limbs around his waist with unstoppable strength- and since banging heads with Hisoka was not an option, Illumi braced himself with his hands on Hisoka’s shoulders and they both cursed simultaneously at the impact of it. Or maybe that’s just Hisoka feeling Illumi’s elongated nails draw blood and Illumi’s reaction when he realized…

…He was straddling the sadistic clown in the middle of the sidewalk. The humming quiet of the street stilled and stifled and grew awkward as people stared. This marked one of the very few times Illumi felt embarrassment heat his cheeks and ears.

“Are you blushing, my darling?”

With no choice left, Illumi buried his head into the nook of Hisoka's neck, “either you _put me down this instant_ or,” the sigh was ticklish where it caressed Hisoka’s skin, “you take me somewhere _fun_ ,”

In hindsight, Illumi probably should’ve been more specific about _whose_ definition of fun he meant. 

* * *

It was bright outside his window and the air, shrouded thick with the scent of whiskey.

Funny how sunshine seldom reached the estate and how Illumi was pretty sure the Butlers have already destroyed any and every trace of alcohol within the estate after Killu was born, white locks signifying the times were changing.

This must be a very lucid dream, it had to be. He went home last night and-

No. His eyes open to the sight of a burnt sienna ceiling and peach walls, too colorful and pastel to belong to the Zoldyck estate. He did not get home last night, “Fuck.”

"Morning, my dear," a voice, hoarse from sleep, stirred beside him. Illumi should have noticed the minute he held the duvet between his fingers and felt that is was, well, not the Egyptian cotton ones dear Mother insisted him on using. The warmth from his side should have been the final warning sign.

He gasped softly at the revelation; the sun was out, he was not in the Zoldyck estate and- he sat up quickly, and felt the sum of all the needles he has ever used attack his skull- is this what they call a hangover? It was not unlike the ache mental training caused, but he still winced in surprise.

The city outside of the floor-to-ceiling window was the same scene he saw yesterday, a few degrees off from the view of the hotel he inhabited but the silhouette was more or less the same.

To his right, shirtless and showing off a muscled back, lying there half buried in pure white sheets, was Hisoka; lips lazily smirking as he struggled to stay awake, he was the epitome of a good night’s sleep. He guessed the bed, as well as the suite as a whole, to be Hisoka’s. He could smell that guess to be true, everything was marked with a distinct scent of sweet musk, even Illumi felt himself covered in it. 

_How did he get here, why was he here and not home?_ "What happened last night?"

"Oh my, dear Illu, you’ve forgotten?" _Bastard_. "You were quite the show last night."

Bright lights white-washed Illumi's eyelids, a horrendous excuse of someone's music taste ghostly whispered noise into his ears. With his right hand, he reached up to rub his temples but the memories flowed freely like film, regardless.


	2. The Mad Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm the sloth
> 
> the one he calls love
> 
> and lovely darling
> 
> and he's the tree
> 
> the one i'll never dare
> 
> call master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just... dont mention it please-

"This was not what I meant," Illumi said, shifting uncomfortably. His legs were starting to ache around Hisoka's waist from the strain of keeping himself upright, feet tightly bound by Bungee Gum to the small of Hisoka's back. His hands too, were stuck, palms against the nape of Hisoka's neck, arms resting on bleeding shoulders. Apparently he had enough time to bind Illumi’s remaining limbs while they (Hisoka) ran.

Ran to where, one might ask? "I am not a fan of clubs."

"This is where the fun is at, darling. Have you ever tried loosening up?" That voice was getting dangerously close to his ear. People behind them probably think they were kissing or Hisoka was kissing his neck (either way, a pair of lips made contact with the other), especially with the way the side of Illumi's head squirmed into Hisoka's shoulder.

The sober passersby who spared them a glance gawked at the image of Illumi, a grown man, clinging like a sloth to Hisoka’s tree-like figure. If he were in their shoes, he probably would too, just more subtly.

"Let me go, Hisoka." He said tiredly, "or I will dislocate your spine."

"Don't be so feisty, doll," he was smirking, oh so smugly. "Puppets don't defy their master's orders."

Illumi held back a snort, "The day I call you 'master', Hisoka," with ease, he braced his legs and squeezed the abdomen in between them, "is the day I lose faith in the Zoldyck name." Trapped by a viper and he still had the audacity to laugh; only a madman would dare. A madman or a fool.

_Hisoka could be either_ , "don't curse things into existence, darling," _or both_ , "they might come true just to spite you." _Definitely both._

"Why did you take me here, of all places?"

"You said fun, and aren't clubs just oozing with it? Can't you hear the sound of it, tangled with the music?"

"If by music you mean pointless screaming over amplified bass, and fun by the chorus of ear-shattering shrieks trying to imitate said music," Illumi's nose wrinkled, quick and out of anyone's view, "then your definition of fun is flawed. Polar opposite to mine, actually."

Hisoka snorted, breath ruffling a few strands of Illumi's hair, "have a drink with me, and maybe then, I'll let you go."

"I cannot get drunk, remember?"

He has tried many times to reach, if not overcome, Illumi's alcohol limit- to see him all flushed red and incoherent and know what he was like when the screws unhinge. The idea did not threaten Illumi, for it was too far-fetched to be reality. This equation always had the same result, Hisoka's attempts would never equal to his goal.

He should have expected this; he really should have expected this from him.

Having the power over his legs to do so, Hisoka walked towards the bar, sat on a spinning- squeaky- stool and ordered whiskey on the rocks. Two, for the both of them. The bartender nodded an affirmation, not seeming to mind their compromising position or Hisoka’s openly bloodied clothes. How questionable, yet completely understandable.

Illumi relaxed his legs, letting gravity pull at his weight downward, ignoring the fact that it was this despicable man's lap he sat on, "Hisoka." The man merely stared at him, unblinking when their drinks arrived.

"On my tab," he said, though it's for the already leaving bartender and not the eyes that stare back at him.

"Hisoka," Illumi repeated, this time giving the neck in between his forearms a squeeze.

He held one glass in a hand propped atop the paint-chipped counter. Much to Illumi's chagrin, the injured hand played with the ends of his hair, blood most likely matting them into clumps. Hisoka finished his drink like a shot- unmindful of the fact that it was a half full glencairn he downed and most definitely not a shot- and sighed, quite pleased, when he placed it back on the counter.

The third time he called him, something cold pressed up against his lips. "Drink up, darling," Hisoka said, offering the other glass of whiskey.

"Were you not listening-"

A finger, from the supposedly bloody hand, shushed him, and that was when he noticed the bleeding stopped. "I was listening, love, I hang onto your every word quite seriously. I'm saying drink regardless of that Zoldyck immunity."

Illumi sipped reluctantly, Hisoka tilting the container upwards bit by bit until it was empty, and the one block of ice hit the tip of Illumi's nose. He drank it with four big gulps.

"There, happy?"

The whiskey tasted cheap, but what else could be expected from a club tucked away to a remote corner in the downtown area of the city? Music from the positioned speakers was terribly repetitive, decor was non-existent and the flashing lights made him dizzy if he were to stare at them for too long.

But drunken people did not notice these little things, hung-up people were too busy wallowing in self-pity to mind them, and the people who came to let go of all their inhibitions simply… did not care.

Too bad Illumi was not any of the above, and he noticed everything wrong in the structure and layout of the room. _And those lights need to stop, hopefully soon._

"What are you thinking about, love?"

That the strobe lights were bothersome, and that the least they could have done was devise an order for what colors would appear together, form a decent enough palette and where to point the beams at. Not this chaotic monstrosity. "Do not call me that," Illumi said instead of voicing out his critical thoughts, "I have drunk with you, now unbind me."

There's a hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze and spelling revenge with the patterns it stroked on clothed skin. Illumi did not flinch. They were quiet in their own little bubble, an argument imbued within the eye contact, it felt like fighting a brick wall. Outside of it, the club goers turned it up a few more notches than necessary, a reminder that it was nearing midnight.

_That will be a bothersome crowd to take part of._

"Shall we dance?" Hisoka asked, as if he read his thoughts. 

"No." but when Hisoka stood in all of his 187cm glory, Illumi ran out of options.

Still holding onto the chokehold, Illumi's grip tightens just barely; _maybe snapping his neck will release me_. The Gum dissipated before he could test the theory, and he was supported to stand on his own two feet by talon like fingers.

"Come, now," Hisoka grabbed his hand, though Illumi pulled and twisted the hand against Hisoka's back. There's a soft groan, notably pleased now, but he chose to ignore it, "I am not your puppet or doll, Hisoka. For the last time, leave me alone."

"And for the last time, my precious little fiend," Illumi felt that execrable pull again (he really should make it a habit to continuously use gyo whenever Hisoka was around) this time, on his thigh and… around his head? No, "We're here to have fun. Now be a good boy and let go. Or-" this psychotic imbecile put Bungee Gum on his-

"I'll have your hair back to the way it was when we first met."

Illumi frowned, fist clenching around Hisoka's pinned wrist.

In the end, he conceded, because he valued the years he spent growing it out- because the memory of their first meeting was unpleasant. Or perhaps, in the smallest crevice of Illumi's mind, he thought maybe he did want to loosen up. Even if it was only for tonight.

Hisoka laughed when he was freed. "Good boy,"

* * *

Illumi brushed off a few stray strands of his hair precariously settled over his eyes. His scalp felt oily, there were pins and needles and every other sharp object currently drilling into the most fragile corners of his skull, questionable bruises flowered red on both of his wrists and, when he made to stretch his arms overhead, his spine protested with loud cracks.

"So?" Hisoka rolled over and sat up, the sheets pooling below his navel to reveal an extremely shirtless chest, "What do you remember from last night?"

"You threatened to cut- or rather, _pull_ \- off my… hair?" Illumi checked Hisoka's face for confirmation, and received a small nod in return. Something dangerous made the ends of Hisoka’s lips twitch, would they be upturned or down?

"And?" he was prompted.

"I am not sure; my mind draws a blank when I try to think of anything further than that."

Down, a ghost of a frown appeared on Hisoka's lips. "Oh. You sure?"

"Quite positive about it, yes," Illumi threw in a nod, but the frown deepened and more apparent emotions showed. Somehow, he felt guilty for forcing something as out of place as a downturned curve on Hisoka's ever-smirking lips.

"That's honestly disappointing, love."

"Please stop calling me that."

Hisoka hummed, pensive. "Why don't you go shower first? Your hair's become a bird's nest."

Illumi reached a hand up to comb through it. The length was still the same as yesterday, and there was no trace of dried blood on the tips as he had anticipated, "sure."

When Illumi stood up, Hisoka was watching him. He was not naked like he assumed Hisoka was, but the sack-like oversized shirt was most certainly not what he wore to his mission the night prior (it was more comfortable though, such a bittersweet thing for a hideous apparel).

Hisoka relaxed into the sheets when he confirmed his love went to the bathroom, the soft click of the lock as loud as a pin drop on hollow glass in the quiet suite. Illumi won’t leave just yet; he had this borderline obsessive habit to always know the answer. And he's sure to have a lot of questions in that head of his right now.

_So up until I took him to dance, huh?_

In the depths of his imagination, the ceiling was the screen where the movie of last night’s events was projected on.

_Oh love, that was only the beginning of our night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glencairn is this whiskey glass thing thats got a caved-in mouth that makes it easier to swirl whiskey?? bc apparently thats how one appreciates the delicacy that was the aroma of the beverage. note here that clown boi was thirsty, we'll get to more intricate whiskey appreciation later on ;))
> 
> kudos and comments r greatly appreciated grrrr
> 
> scream at me, or with me;  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xiu21chen99)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jeanneMULTISTAN)


	3. Ice Melts and So Will You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wanna see all of you
> 
> when the ice has melted
> 
> and your heart unfrozen;
> 
> that'll be quite the view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when the world slows
> 
> in ritardando-
> 
> your breath echoes
> 
> an endless crescendo

"You're too tense!" Hisoka yelled over the EDM. They've squeezed themselves into the throngs of dancing people and now, Illumi's already distinct presence and posture stood out even more. He was stiff as a rock beside him in the rapidly flowing river of bodies.

Having dragged his poor victim there by the hand, Hisoka pulled Illumi closer- personal space be damned. Illumi was staring at something past Hisoka’s shoulder, black-hole eyes empty. “Love?”

“You should stop calling me that,”

_It’s like talking to a damn robot with him sometimes._

“And why’s that?” he slid a hand up. Illumi didn’t resist as he traced random swirls on his wrist- warm, from his own heat or from the one that enveloped the dance floor, could be anyone’s guess. Hisoka went higher, middle and forefinger acting like pointy legs climbing the steady slopes of Illumi’s bare arm. Shoulders rose and muscles tensed just slightly as Hisoka skipped to the low neckline of Illumi’s outfit and flattened calloused digits over prominent collarbones.

Slap! His hand was swatted away by another, “It is repulsive.” He said, referring to more than the terms of endearment Hisoka sent his way.

“Have you ever danced, love?” Pressed close, Illumi’s ear was within the reach of his cut breaths. Closer and Illumi’s andante exhales shaped over his jaw. A bit more and their chests will meet, one tiny step away from physical contact- Illumi was a living statue in an art museum, and Hisoka reached over to touch. This time he wasn’t stopped, scratching nails none-too-deep over smooth skin.

There was a hitch, stuck in that bare throat, andante became moderato- as Illumi became the only good music in this damned club. After a subtle swallow, that would’ve been unnoticed were Hisoka not openly staring at the small jut of an Adam’s apple barely visible on his craned neck, Illumi answered him with, “of course I have. The Zoldyck children are taught ballroom dances when they reach the age of five, for socializing purposes.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hisoka dragged on, a teasing hum vibrating notes into the shell of Illumi’s ear. They both knew Illumi was evading the question, and that was all the more reason to coerce an answer out of him. “Have you ever let yourself go?”

“Have you ever stopped to think about what you say or ask?”

“That’s a foreign concept to me,” he snickered to himself, “so, are you gonna answer me, love?”

An emotion crossed over the shadows of his face, a slight change that Hisoka caught on quickly (for something as consistent as Illumi’s resting face, literally any change couldn’t be overlooked) and for a moment, he thought he would get some sort of reaction out of him. But Illumi tipped his head back, stared directly into Hisoka’s eyes, and said, “no.” And all of Hisoka's unanswered questions flooded him, because maybe that was what Illumi intended to say to all of them.

The shadows stay underneath Illumi’s lip line despite the rainbow beams splattering their skin.

“Come on,” hands locked tight, he pulled his darling with him back, shouldering against the current and grinning all the while. There’s intent in his grip, a plan in each step, and finally they reach a less cramped area, though it’s in the deeper end of the dance floor. “What are you doing?” Illumi asked belatedly, they’ve drawn closer to the music system and his soft voice was only making half the cut to Hisoka’s already sharp hearing.

Hisoka smirked; confusion simply looked delightful on that porcelain face. “I want you,” his hands changed places, the left one tip-toed to Illumi’s waist as the right raised their clasped hands higher, “to show me what you’ve got.”

His darling Illumi, observant as ever, must’ve already guessed where this was headed, for Hisoka felt something light and dainty rest on his shoulder, if not on purpose then instinctively. “Have you ever danced while disguised as a woman before?” Hisoka asked, a random thought that came without warning, his mouth shaped without thinking. 

“Are we really going to be doing this here?” Illumi asked in favor of answering, and if Hisoka didn’t know any better then he’d have addressed the elephant in the room, or rather the hemotropic butterflies that fluttered on his pretty doll’s cheeks; his darling looked lovely when painted red, it made him seem alive. He did know better though, and pointing out dear Illumi’s embarrassment was certainly not for the better. “Yes,” he answered, voice tinged with complacency.

The beat dropped just then, and Hisoka sent the DJ a wink, as if grateful. He kind of was, when the rave-vibes that shook the air gradually stilled, ever so smoothly. _Ritardando_ , he mused to himself; the digital clock stuck high up on the wall beeped midnight in stiff red lines, and suave guitar notes over fast-paced claps crescendoed. He gave his darling a specific gaze, somewhat starved and somewhat ravished, “shall we tango, my love?”

“No, Hisoka-” too late, he half-contemplated using Bungee Gum, but his earlier words would definitely bite him back- the ones about Illumi being a puppet- and though the idea was all too appealing, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find another partner for this, so he pushed the idea down. A great risk evaded for a greater pleasure provided.

Hisoka found this club perhaps a week or so ago, and was intrigued with the turn of events that transpired on the last second of 11:59 pm, when meaningless white noise bounced back after a good second of silence, with velvety ringlets of lust. It positively made his toes curl with just the sound of it, and oh how long he waited to find someone worthy to accompany him here.

He was hoping for a dance less restrictive and more invigorating yet this somehow felt enough. Just waist and hand within his grasp, chests barely touching yet the tingles of suffocation closed in on his throat, and he let himself sigh but it came out as a borderline moan. And the music, of course, drawing swirls over and around his spine with each prominent strum of high-pitched guitar strings.

But it’s mainly his lovely, lovely Illumi and the almost shy glance he threw at him before ducking his head down and sighing. Hisoka took a trial step back but ultimately came back to when Illumi- lovely, lovely Illumi- froze into an even icier stance. _Ice is stiff, but you’re such a fine sculpture._

“It takes two to tango, love,” Hisoka whispered, the background volume infinitely quieter now, more overtaken by voices than anything. “I refuse to do this with you, of all people,” Illumi said.

“If you hate it so much,” his nose, pointed tip and all, dug into the lobe of Illumi’s ear, then down his slim neck, “then why are you still holding on to me?”

“Practicality. I half-unarm you this way,” such a half-assed excuse, but the grip on his shoulder tightened little by little. _Was he really staying with me here to protect his precious mane? Was that hand a warning for me, to not do anything funny; a threat unneeded to be voiced out?_ Or maybe…

“Bullshit, just fucking dance with me, Illumi.”

Hisoka pulled one foot back and was pleasantly surprised to hear a step forward take the space; hear because his eyes were closed and his cheek was almost snuggled into the alcove of Illumi’s neck. “That’s it, love.”

_Maybe, you don’t want to be ice anymore._

_Maybe you want me to melt you._  
  


* * *

  
  


“Why,” Illumi emerged from the bathroom after a few moments of pause, as if to make the question simmer, but Hisoka already had a faint clue about what he was going to say. He’d braced himself the minute his darling’s long billowy head of hair disappeared from his view. Hisoka sighed in reply, forcefully loud and forcedly long.

“Why,” Hisoka heard him repeat as his eyelids fluttered against some gravitational weight he couldn’t fight- he left them closed, “do I hear music?”

Hmm?

“What do you mean, darling?” His eyes opened to see Illumi as he patted his dripping wet locks with a towel, while another hung from his neck like some make-believe shirt that covered his front. Shorts, he wore one of the few pairs Hisoka owned, and they creased up slightly to reveal milky thighs. It’s the one from last night, still.

“Can I borrow a shirt first?”

“I prefer you stay like that darling, but if you insist, third shelf’s full of comfortable ones,” he pointed sluggishly at the wardrobe by the corner of the room. Illumi nodded, or at least he thought he did, his eyes were closing again, “and what was wrong with the shirt I gave you last night?”

Illumi was quick to pick probably the smallest shirt Hisoka owned, which was the only white shirt he had. It was plain and boring and he hadn’t worn it in a while, hence the size difference, a hollow shell of how thin he used to be. The shirt was still a bit loose in the arm holes for Illumi, and the sleeves were quite worn in.

“Hideous,” Illumi answered as he pulled the shirt down his torso.

“Such a rude thing to say to someone who’s lending you clothes.”

“Not when that someone is the reason why I do not know the whereabouts of my clothes in the first place.”

“So true. So, what was your question?”

The bed sunk slightly beside him, and he felt the weight shift. He peeked an eye open again to see his darling, back against the headboard; uncombed and now only ever-so-lightly-damp hair framing a face that was tipped up to the ceiling, his calculating eyes trying to see the movie of memories that played in Hisoka’s mind. Or maybe he’s thinking about something else. “I hear music. Or rather, I remember hearing music- one that was thankfully not the typical club music.”

Maybe not something else but he’s definitely getting close. “I remember it sounding like the kind that could be used as the sensual background for an erotica.”

At that, Hisoka snorted. “You’re not too far off, love.”

Eyes narrowed, “what happened last night?”

_Oh to forget and be forgotten._

_He hasn’t noticed yet, how has he not noticed yet?_

“You know what’s so addictive about fighting, love?” Hisoka turned to his side, sitting up a bit as he supported his head on his palm. Sunlight was warm on his back, something felt warmer elsewhere.

“It’s that at the end of the day, with either broken bones or just small cuts and bruises, you realize you’re still alive. And the rush of knowing that you’ve earned that, it makes you _feel_ alive. The stronger the opponent, the harder the fight, and the bigger the rush you get back.”

“A high risk for a high return; the most exhilarating decision for a gambler.” 

Somewhere in the room, sunlight refracts on something polished and it shone directly in the center of Hisoka’s eyes. Like he had enough fire in him to rival the sun, and it only flared when Illumi gave him a questioning look.

“That’s what you said last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i abuse my power over hisoka's thoughts and uh overwrote terms of endearment bc thats just how he referred to/thought abt his dear illu? yes, abso-fucking-lutely y e s
> 
> do i feel even the smallest drop of guilt? nope! hdhhdhjdjsdj lemme praise my pretty boi in peace-
> 
> also i just l o v e the concept of hisoka thinking in musical terms?? a rather weird headcanon of mine, i am a firm believer that if hisoka doesnt end up as an [orange farmer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370388) then he'd be a damn good musician
> 
> (hemotropic butterflies as in those blood butterflies in the zevil island/hunter exam arc, yes i went there, problem?-)
> 
> brr brr comments and kudos give me butterflies <333
> 
> scream at me, or with me;  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xiu21chen99)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jeanneMULTISTAN)


	4. Imperfect and Bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you hear that
> 
> the hum of music?
> 
> and engulfed by that?
> 
> my heart finally beating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he who broke too many toys
> 
> found a scared, broken boy
> 
> and instead of feeling distaste
> 
> he found himself wanting to heal him

There was a new kind of buzz in the air, static as he felt it again, the rising of the hairs in the back of his neck triggered only by Hisoka’s steady hold on his waist. One more step to the left, and a diamond formed under their feet- what was a promised tango became a slow waltz. Hisoka led, Illumi followed, the world went around.

Guitar strums, quick-paced and reverberating, surrounded them, like they were in the middle of a live band. The song started with bell-like chimes and claps, light-hearted as the story behind it unfolded. One step forward, back, then many to the right.

It was ridiculous, this was not proper ballroom conduct, but then again, they were not necessarily in a proper ballroom setting, right? Hisoka was sniffing his neck like a curious puppy, and Illumi was sure if it were up to Hisoka, his neck would be slobbered on by now.

Guitar strums- was that a violin accompaniment? Time felt continuous here, in an ocean of unnamed faces. Not that Illumi once cared about knowing the names behind those faces, in crowds that grouped by coincidence and would most likely remain as strangers to each other by the end of the night. He did not care, but the glances that strayed on him felt hot and heavy in the back of his head.

One step forward, one step back, their feet invisibly drawing the diamond in a clockwise motion this time around.

Ballroom dances do not really go against the current it has created, unless it was a group dance, where partner switching would eventually lead to a drawback in the circulation. Not like this, when there were only the two of them there to sway from side to side.

Guitar strings, and maybe Illumi’s heart strings, strummed quicker.

Imperfect and bold, with complete knowledge of how things should be and yet turning a blind eye- because there was something tender in the way Hisoka’s hand held his waist tighter whenever they swerved in turns. This went against the rules yet everything felt perfect, as the voice in the back of his head that sounded not unlike his mother slowly stopped its screaming.

The rules were there, but they broke it anyways; Illumi, who has broken the rules before and was left with something broken in return, felt a forgotten organ in his chest heal from Hisoka's hold on him. Perfectly calm, as his heartbeat thrummed in his ears for the first time in years.

One forward, Hisoka halted.

There was a scheme in the smile Illumi felt curved against his cheek, “shall we take it up a notch?”

As if on cue, the blinking of the lights stop to a complete red. How did he do that? Anyone else would ask, but Illumi already knew, Hisoka had more tricks up his sleeve than Illumi had needles. 

Saxophone, and those guitar strings again, less mellow and more seductive. Has he been anticipating this?

“Hisoka, what are you-”

Hands, two of them on his waist, lifted him up and automatically, his legs found their way around Hisoka’s middle. “Let go, love.” He said, as if letting go was easy. As if he ever had the choice to do so. Hisoka might think he was unaware of the chains, far worse than the power of that blonde friend of Killu’s, but he was, and has been trying to free himself of them since the day his Father broke both of his arms and told him he was unworthy of anything.

He was still trying to free himself, desperately. Maybe that was what pushed him to be there, with Hisoka, because the night was young and he was not getting any younger, and the screams of his child self still echoed down the long winding corridor restricted from anyone else. "Pathetic", Father used to say. Still said to this day.

"Unworthy."

_How can I let go when I have already been let go of? How will I let go when there’s nowhere else to go to? How can I let go without knowing what waited for me at the bottom?_

_I… am afraid of falling._

“I’ll catch you, love.”

_What_?

“Illumi, darling, let go. I’ll never let you fall. In fact, I’ll be the one to make you soar.”

Hisoka, and his ever-present smile, ever-lively attitude, ever-free self. Those concepts seemed so foreign; what ever will it feel like to have even one?

“I…” _should not be here; should not have let you drag me here, should not feel this free when I am your hostage; should not hate the thought of tonight ending because that would be putting an end to this dream_ , “I trust you.”

When Hisoka threw him into the air like he weighed less than a feather, Illumi saw it- the absolute mirth in Hisoka’s eyes, like he won against the strongest person on earth and lived to tell the tale of it. Illumi felt weightless like that, a lifetime in each of those few seconds; lifetimes of free-fall and freedom that he will never experience.

Hisoka’s arm felt safe and secure around his waist, and for the first time since he was a child, untainted by his parents’ words that now inked his skin, Illumi laughed. Not caused by finally finding the answer, not forced out by his dear Mother during formal gatherings, not mechanical like during those times Grandfather cracked up a joke and expected a reaction from him. No, it bubbled within him with warmth, Hisoka’s warmth. He was warm in his arms.

Father did not spend leisure time with him, so Illumi had never been in a circumstance where he had to feign a laugh for him. He faintly wondered how that would feel, but this one, the genuine one he felt caressing his throat while he stared into those golden eyes, blurred the memory of every other. His arms hugged Hisoka tighter, little by little.

“Thank you,” he said, soft, muffled into Hisoka’s neck, “for being there when I let go.”

“Any time, love.”

* * *

“Oh.”

Of all of last night’s memories, he had to remember that one. And the flashbacks it brought along with it, there were plenty more and they all came at once- painted the easel of his mind a mosaic of his past. There have been many times he considered running away, so he secretly thought Killu actually doing so was justified. Taking Alluka, too, she did not deserve that underground prison.

“Why, love? Did you remember something?” _Hisoka_ , memories of Hisoka were in the palette too, but what made him stand out were his colors. He had teal teardrops and magenta stars, vibrant hair and pale skin, molten gold eyes and deviously shining smiles; he was a world of color within himself, the most color Illumi had within reach. An aesthetic on his own, that Illumi desperately wanted to attain.

“Do you,” Illumi paused, hands fidgeting with his hair, “remember the first time we met?”

“It’s been- what? More than a decade now,” Hisoka smiled, eyes glazed over, “and the image of you, in hoodies and jeans, has yet to fade from my mind. After all, that was also the last time I saw you in such fashion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short! and! sweet! is exactly what i told myself when i first wrote this, and here we are now, 6K words later... and then some...
> 
> keep in mind, we're boutta swerve into a childhood flashback so best be prepared for,,, sad undertones hshshshjhf oH and peak hisoillu culture is hisoka tryna snap illu outta his 'unworthy' headspace (a personal headcanon of mine~)
> 
> forgot to add; while describing the first song i was listening to yoi's on love; eros so its lowkey inspired by it, and kyousou requiem with the second one tho i mostly listened to get the shmexy feels in. yeah, it didnt work hashshjh
> 
> i will kith whoever leaves a comment
> 
> scream at me, or with me;  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xiu21chen99)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jeanneMULTISTAN)


	5. Thirteen Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he who lives
> 
> a double life
> 
> is bound to trip
> 
> in a moment's time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few points i wanna point out (pun???? intended) before we start;
> 
> *refer to the chap title for time setting  
> *this contains spoilers for Sui Ishida's work, "Hisoka's Past" so read that if ya haven't yet!  
> *also sorry to disappoint but this is more of a filler chapter than anything rlly-
> 
> regardless-  
> enjoy!

“Is he dead?”

No, of course not. But everything did hurt, and that obnoxious pole that poked at his backside only made every muscle within the area weep in pain. “What’s your name, boy?” one of them asked, but he couldn’t tell which one.

Blurred, their faces weren’t lines and curves and colors; everything within his sight was smudged like the ever-present dirt marks on his skin, it made him feel dizzy- or maybe he already was? “Hi-” _fuck_ , his throat burned, vocal chords strung tight and dry, “Hisoka,” he managed, a cough forcing its way out his lips and scratching up his throat even more. _Fuck indeed_.

There were whispers, muted conversations that his ears couldn’t pick up and for a second, he thought someone pushed him into deep waters. He heaved a breath through the nose, collecting dust from the road against his cheek that he exhaled soon after, just to prove to himself that he was still on land. The scent of the surrounding area suggested he was somewhere in the hotel quarters, something lavish hung in the air that even trash couldn’t cover up from his keen nose. _How the fuck did I get here?_

“Hello, Hisoka. I’m Moritonio, a travelling performer.”

And that was how Hisoka found himself a part of Moritonio’s world, about a month or two later. Sadly, everything here was borderline grey, the troupe members didn’t really bother to spare him a glance, let alone acknowledge his presence (not that he wanted their attention anyways, they were too focused on practice that even the hushed talking he overheard didn’t stray too far from the subject) and, well, routine has always been his biggest pet peeve- he lived for spontaneity, after all.

Perhaps that’s why he challenged Yasuda, because as the days grew bleaker and bleaker, the idea of being performing also grew more and more interesting, if only by comparison and the lack of a better option. “I already got most of the basics down,” Hisoka had said, his innocent smile a double-edged sword that eased the injured Kishita and the stoked flames of his partner, Yasuda’s anger. “Fine!” Yasuda had replied, though it made everyone else in the troupe feel everything but.

On show day he outperformed Yasuda, and even corrected the flow of their joined juggling act when unwarranted pins got thrown his way, because Hisoka saw the plan through even before Yasuda got to his station, and prepared himself for it ahead of time. The look of shock, the sound of Yasuda’s pins hitting the floor, _ooh_ \- such a sweet reward from the act he only volunteered for out of sheer spite.

Yasuda left quietly afterwards, and his leave only made Hisoka’s presence echo louder. Not long after, the troupe developed some type of insecure fear of him, afraid that the child prodigy and former thief from the streets would steal not only their routines but the years they’ve spent perfecting it- afraid to see their efforts belittled by a boy who could effortlessly imitate said routines only after seeing them perform a few times.

Hisoka knew this, acknowledged this, and he _thrived_ on it. People tended to see the young as weak, but for Hisoka that only gifted him with the element of surprise, smooth unwrinkled skin was the most convincing camouflage and the most camouflaged armor, and he wore it with pride.

Moritonio approached when he noticed the practice schedule was slowly getting neglected, as many trained in secret over break times and rested during practice times. “Hisoka,” he had said, “are you just going to continue being the troupe terror?”

“That depends, Moritonio,” Hisoka had dragged on, “are you going to teach me what you’re teaching Abaki?” And that was how Hisoka discovered _nen_ , something he’d later learn would not only polish his armor, but compensate for his lack of a physical weapon.

A week of training later, he surpassed Abaki’s level. Ten and ren were interesting, but he cropped them to be foundation-building skills; the basics. Ten got him to release energy without control, and it took a toll on his stamina while ren gave him the guise of light and glimmer and a faux fire, which in his opinion was such a cruel joke for someone who _really_ wanted to burn.

Stacked side by side gave him the ability to look like a star that yearned to glow as bright as the damned sun, it made him realize the difference of strength; how being weak was _so not fun_.

Later that week, Hisoka found out that zetsu was how one hid their aura, and an advanced level of it could make one quite invisible to anyone else’s senses. That meant whenever he retracted his nen, he’d already been subconsciously mastering it as well. Moritonio had patted him on the back for pointing out that underlying thought, as he taught them about hatsu and aura types and water divination.

Hisoka’s glass of water turned sour when he tried, and according to the old man that meant he was a Transmuter like him.

Another week later, though outside of Moritonio’s quarters and infinitely out of Abaki’s knowledge, Hisoka’s Transmutation prowess took a rather abrupt turn for the better; it started in the baths while he was splattering water about like the child he was when one particular slap on the water’s surface didn’t push through, instead got his hand stuck midway out as the water tinged pink (here’s how it really went; Hisoka was, from the upper lip down, submerged in the bathtub ruefully scheming his grand escape from this freakshow of a “family” when he noticed his breaths no longer made ripples in the water, and the unintentional release of nen has turned the water sticky) and splash! His hatsu was born.

He’d meant to tell Moritonio of it, because if he didn’t update the nosy fool then he’d poke him with questions he lacked the patience to hear. Abaki too, she was a steadily growing presence and she made herself more known whenever nen was involved. As fate would have it, he encountered her the next day; nen-infused rope whipping at a leaping figure, somewhere secluded where stall upon stall of tents lined up and Abaki’s cause of apprehension was hopping from inventory crates to alleys between tents trying to avoid her attacks.

He had surmised quite quickly that if Abaki- the naïve dreamer with hopeless morals- was the one on the offensive side then the blurry figure her rope targeted was trouble, and who was Hisoka to miss a chance for trouble? He threw several cards towards the person, then several more at where he thought they’d land as he noticed their evasive trajectory grow repetitive with each of Abaki’s frustrated whips.

The figure jumped, masked face turning to Hisoka’s direction from where the boy grinned gleefully, because one look was all he needed to identify this person. This was the infamous John Doe, the hundred-faced man with what Hisoka humored himself to call ‘an extreme choking kink’- this man was the talk of the city! Now all Hisoka could picture was Abaki’s crushed corpse in the same way most of John Doe’s past victims were killed, it brought a sadistic edge to the corner of his lips.

Abaki whipped her rope overhead and the end of it locked on a metal rod protruding between the tents; the action got John Doe to look up and away for a split second, enough to make Hisoka pounce with an ace of spades in hand. He locked in on the jugular exposed right below that white mask, and slashed through.

As it turned out, John Doe was half a second faster than him- the man jumped back, neck protected by a lowered chin. That positioned his face a few ways closer to Hisoka’s already set bull’s eye, and so with the upward stroke of his card he got to slash an eye instead. Someone hissed, someone cursed. Hisoka stood there disappointed as John Doe disappeared around the corner, “are you alright?” he heard Abaki ask, but his gaze didn’t leave the bloodied A of his card.

As they walked back, Abaki kept muttering about how they could’ve detained him then and there, or how the authorities could better distinguish him now with his injured eye while she coiled her rope messily. Hisoka’s eyes were empty as his mind flew elsewhere.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked.

“Nothing,” he’d answered, _that felt too fake to be real._

When they- mostly Abaki- reported back to Moritonio, they were scolded for being too brash, taking on a mass murderer like that, and were sent away with a relieved pat on the head because at least weren’t found crushed like candy wrappers on some secluded alley.

Hisoka’s hatsu was never revealed. He never really pieced things together either, so the John Doe incident became a thing of the past.

Abaki tried to squeeze herself in his already scarce private time, and while Hisoka took great enjoyment in breaching others’ privacy he was a pretty prickly person when it came to his own. “What do you want?” it’s been a few days since John Doe, and consequently a day before their big gig in Royal Glam Hotel- Abaki once told him that it was every performer’s wet dream to be able to stand on the stage there, and perhaps that was the only time Hisoka acknowledged her humor.

“Moritonio’s acting weird,” Abaki said instead, as she leaned on the balcony railing. Beside her, Hisoka raised an eyebrow, “He’s never really cancelled training, y'know? Now that I think about it, he’s only acted like this when you came.” Her voice held no bite; Hisoka couldn't be bothered to reply.

They were silent after that, and then “well? Why don’t you use that damn nose of yours and sniff out the problem or something?” she tried sarcasm, but it only made her look like a kitten trying to goad the king of the jungle.

_Sniff, you say?_ Unconsciously, Hisoka breathed in through the nose. Glam Gas Land always had that lingering scent of _gas_ and alcohol, something to be expected from a former resource paradise turned gambling city, and to mix that with the dense cloud of sweat their fellow members built up on the tent next door- the odor made him cringe.

“I didn’t mean literally, you idiot!” Abaki yelled beside him, and _oh_ what’s this? Having been facing away, his head snapped towards her. Something was off, something didn’t feel right, it was neither aura nor scent exactly; call it a slum brat’s gut feeling but, “who’ve you talked to?”

“Eh?”

His eyes rolled before he could stop them, “I mean who’d you approach before you came here?”

“What’s that got to do with anyth-”

“Just answer me, damn it!”

“Moritonio, geez!” her hands shot up, a gesture of surrender and impatience, “I thought I’d established that when I said he never cancels training? Did you forget we were supposed to train our hatsu today?”

_Oh_.

And so the day of their show arrived and went, the audience applauded of course. Abaki looked ready to cry beside him when they all gathered to bow a final time, and Moritonio’s smile was fake through and through, though Hisoka knew he was probably the only one who noticed.

The troupe celebrated that night, sounds of “cheers!” to their biggest show yet. Unbeknownst to them, it would most likely be the last one too.

Hisoka found the old man sat on the edge of the stage, in front of him a ghosted auditorium- rows and rows of empty seats that were occupied mere hours prior. “Moritonio~” he made himself known, whether or not his zetsu actually worked on keeping him hidden was up to Moritonio; he didn’t really seem surprised when Hisoka entered from backstage.

“Hisoka,” he greeted, “why aren’t you with the others?” that was quite the pointless question to ask, as Hisoka made sure to strengthen his aura around him as if that would spell out the obvious answer. _I don't like them, and they don't like me_. “It’s always like this after a show,” Moritonio droned on when he was slapped with silence, as he felt Hisoka’s presence settle a few meters to his left. “Empty.”

“Did you know, Moritonio,” Hisoka’s aura wavered then stilled, “that a magician needs more than just tricks up his sleeve to deceive a fellow magician?”

“Hmm?”

“Your cheek is falling apart, by the way.” The old man shot a hand up to the appendage, as if to confirm Hisoka’s words when in fact, he’d only turned the boy’s theory into reality. Hisoka squealed, delighted to be correct. "I always thought it looked too smooth for your old age."

Right off the bat, this bespectacled man’s welcoming gaze irked him. No, it wasn’t because he was too used to adults giving him the stink eye when they see him beaten and bruised, he already knew it somewhere in the back of his mind- no one was ever truly _nice_ in this world, not really. But Moritonio had an air of generosity around him like he was always willing to _give_ and that made Hisoka think he was compensating for _taking_ things behind their backs.

No matter which angle Hisoka looked from, he saw Moritonio as a skeptical character with a well-built reputation, an excuse of emotion and not logic because everyone trusted him. Hisoka was willing to bet that Moritonio had some sort of favor-related leverage on everyone celebrating outside that he helped keep his image up.

Either that or not a single soul knew how to detect a liar within their midst, and the troupe has been blindly harboring a murderer in this make believe family.

“John Doe, I see you’re a gifted man of disguise.” Hisoka bowed with flair, as if to welcome a newly arrived guest. The old man said nothing as he stood.

Hisoka felt chills up his spine, not from something as irrational as fear but rather the opposite of it. He hasn’t had a decent fight in _ages_ , when he first got into this freakshow, he was made to behave and the only thing that made him follow such restriction was his gut and the shifting of his insides telling him to _wait, something interesting is definitely going to happen here_. And a sixth sense that’s been honed through years of survival in Glam Gas Land like Hisoka’s was seldom wrong.

Moritonio’s aura changed- yet another reason Hisoka was suspicious of him, he seemed to always be constricting himself; _hiding_ \- as he took off his glasses. Bones cracked, but they came from Moritonio stretching his back and neck. “What gave me away?” he finally asked, facing Hisoka as he wiped his glasses on his coat.

“Abaki. She made me realize what’s been putting me off lately.” Hisoka said, pulling a deck of cards from somewhere in his hair. He shuffled the deck a few times, made a show of fancy tricks before pulling a lone card from it. “But it’s mainly you, and the distinct smell of your blood.”

Moritonio’s glasses were quite askew when he perched them back on his nose.

“Did you know it takes an awful lot of effort to remove blood stains on plastic? The scent tends to linger too.” Hisoka made a move to toss it when Moritonio lifted himself from the ground, afloat it seemed, but Hisoka saw right through his tricks; he threw the card regardless, smirked lightly when Moritonio caught between his palms.

“Abaki smelled like John Doe’s blood coincidentally after she had a talk with you. I just put two and two together, you see.”

“And what would you’ve done, Hisoka, were you wrong?”

“Oh Moritonio, didn’t you know?” Hisoka chuckled, “In a guessing game, I never lose.”

“Guess, you say?” Moritonio flew higher, “then humor me, how am I doing _this_.” He came to a stop near the overhead lights that gave him quite the unappealing halo as he looked down on Hisoka. An angel, the others might say, but he looked more like a crazed man who set himself ablaze.

Hisoka hid the deck of cards with tricky hand movements, made it seem like they’ve become one with the tensing air around them. “I have two guesses,” the boy said, twisted grin in place as he held up two fingers. Contrary to his appearance, Hisoka was actually pretty tenacious when it came to studying his opponent; he was a risk taker, not a complete idiot.

“One, you’re using nen to control something- you still have a few tricks you haven't taught me yet.”

“That’s a pretty vague answer, Hisoka.” Moritonio lifted a hand, and then something _punches_ Hisoka square on the chin, the sheer force of it sends him flying backwards. Before he could feel the ground hit his back, two very solid and very _invisible_ forces press against his sides just below his ribcage so that to an outside party, it seemed like he was floating. Moritonio clenched his fist lightly, Hisoka choked.

_What the fuck is this?_ Hisoka racked his brain for an answer, certainly there was more here than meets the eye. As a Transmuter, Moritonio shouldn’t be able to make Hisoka’s midsection feel pressed like a damn accordion- if his memory served him right then he could safely assume that Manipulation was the furthest one from Transmutation on the diagram Moritonio once drew, meaning it’d take a lot of power to master. And Hisoka downright refused to believe Moritonio was that powerful.

_Then what- what the hell am I missing?_ Hisoka’s vision was dotted black (from the lack of proper oxygen circulation- he couldn’t breathe properly, damn it) when he saw something distinct from the shadows of the metal braces on the ceiling. Was that a person or a hallucination? Whatever they were, Hisoka can see the shape of a hand, going in circular motions around his head- face… eyes?

_Ooh_. An idea materialized in his mind.

His voice sounded strained when he said, “thank you.” Moritonio heard, and made a face of utter confusion.

Hisoka made quick work; after a deep breath he forced himself into a state of ren. With clenched fists, he focused his aura to his eyes, imagined them to be shining contacts on his irises and so, when he opened them, the world seemed white-washed. Pillars, somehow with nen in his eyes, he gained the ability to see these pillars on either side of him- judging by the matching tinged glow that coated the pillars and Moritonio’s hand, _this_ was the secret behind the trick.

Moritonio looked stricken with the way Hisoka's lips shaped "you're out of tricks."

When Hisoka glanced back up, the figure was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like shounen anime but i for the life of me can't write good action scenes. do i still try anyways? yes *-_-v
> 
> bro,,, if u comment,,, bro i might love you bro,,, BRO-
> 
> scream at me, or with me;  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xiu21chen99)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jeanneMULTISTAN)

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments r highly loved and appreciated!!
> 
> scream at me, or with me;  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xiu21chen99)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jeanneMULTISTAN)


End file.
